


Lock, Key

by Begone



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Explicit Fantasizing, Masturbation, Other, PRE 5.3 PATCH, Rutting, a hint of crack played straight, this isn't highbrow literature folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Begone/pseuds/Begone
Summary: Dealing with unreasonable amounts of lust in an appropriate matter is quite the hassle...
Relationships: Nabriales/Door
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Lock, Key

Elidibus carefully scrawled diagrams onto a board, voice droning on as he meticulously detailed the next eon’s worth of action.

And it took every _ounce_ of self-control Nabriales had to not suddenly burst out laughing as Elidibus underlined the 7th Umbral Era twice.

Because really, of all the times for him to go into rut?

Right now, apparently, was the _perfect_ time.

The swap in mental state hit him like a grenade- one moment he was trying to tune out Elidibus’ voice while barely paying any attention, the next he was _very_ preoccupied with the man’s lips. Oh how soft and firm they would be around his cock, the Emissary taking him deep into his throat… with just a hint of teeth on the underside of his—

He caught himself in the middle of that lovely mental image, straightening up in his seat and reining his aether back. Igeyorhm, seated next to him, probed with mild curiosity, but that was the extent of notice. He only presses his aether back into hers with the best approximation of drowsiness he could, hoping it would satisfy her curiosity.

Crawling _need_ blooms between his legs with every passing second, making him shift and sharply inhale as his robes scratch _just right_ on his rapidly-fattening cock. His choice in refusing to wear undergarments was a wonderfully _awful_ decision. One he would continue to make, rut or not.

On the plus side, the lust pools heavy in his mind and body, making the minutes slide past as he pays rapt attention to Elidibus’… speech. Masked eyes shamelessly lock onto a rear, widen at the vague insinuation of a leg whenever Elidibus takes a step. Every minute sway is another twitch of his cock, watching and waiting for when robes stretch and reveal outlines of muscle. Lips wet as they watch the man speak, thoughts absolutely blasphemous as they race through his mind.

Nabriales holds his aether close, a single lapse in concentration enough to silently scream his amorous mood to the entire Convocation. The previous, gentle fixation turns the flow of time from babbling brook to a sluggish, warm river. It grates, chafes, itches in a way that makes him count every second towards freedom. Ogling their leader had lost its charm, now all he was waiting for was Elidibus’ freeing command.

And once it is given, Nabriales is the first to leave, standing up before even the sentence finishes. The pure need that sings in his veins can only be cured by a long, arduous night alone in his room. The only casualties in this battle would be a bottle of lotion and his supply of tissues. And the brave soldiers his collection of toys and… lascivious _reading materials_.

The halls are empty, free to roam until he reaches one of the grand doors that divides their bastion into wings. A grand total of three of them barred him from his room, a trip that easily took five minutes. Teleportation is the parsimonious solution, but in his state, could he even focus enough to successfully transfer himself? Nabriales has no time for such conundrums. He was plenty fast on foot, and the first door about to be past him.

He cannot go through fast enough, trying to shimmy between the smallest crack he could. Such weaving demanded sacrifice, and going through such a small space meant he’d scrape his front, an oversight Nabriales completely misses. The heavy wood grinds against his cock, freezing him in his tracks as he bites his lip and splutters through his teeth.

Oh, that was good.

_Too good._

Nabriales stood as he stopped: one hand holding the door, body sideways through the small crack, hips thrust into the side. Cock pressed between wood and his leg.

(Perhaps he adjusted the latter position to better suit his needs. _What of it_?)

Gently, with his conscious refusing to reason with him, he grinds against the wood, lets pleasure sigh up through his spine. He shouldn’t be doing this, his mind stirs, finally catching up to his actions. He could be _seen_. But this hall was usually empty, and they never had enough staff to begin with. Only he regularly came down this way, and that was reason enough to continue grinding himself against that sinfully hard plane of wood.

Hell, this was _leagues_ better than humping a pillow and much more accessible in the interim. Nabriales claws at the door’s ornate paneling, legs locked on the sides as he bucks into it with reckless abandon. He could hear the dull scrape of his claws marking up the poor piece of lumber as the fabric of his robes relentlessly stroked his cock.

Perhaps he even moaned once or twice, he didn’t care as long as he could slide his painfully erect dick against the poor door again. He could feel himself coming closer, nothing in the world able to stop him. Wood cracked as his claws dug in, mask pressed into the wood, mind blank as he chased —

Elidibus cleared his throat, a sharp bolt of cold lightning that soused every ember of lust in Nabriales’ veins. His head snaps towards the noise, face blanching as his head spun with the last remnants of heady door-fucking pleasure before being replaced by soul-chilling embarrassment and shame.

“Nabriales,” Elidibus looked both horrified and distantly surprised at him, lips quirked in some sort of emotional mix heretofore unseen in the Emissary.

Nabriales quickly dismounts off his improvised partner, dusting his robes and straightening up like he wasn’t just humping the short side of a door. Carefully, after clasping his hands behind his back, he gently toes the door closed behind him, trying in vain to hide the marks from his claws behind him.

“Y-yes, sir?” And Nabriales adjusts his stance, cursing the stutter in his voice and the tightness that is not _at ease_ in his robes.

“… See to it you find a… hmm — a _partner_ that less of us actively interact with.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nabriales later finds that Lahabrea took matters into his own hands... and moved his new paramour into his room. Which would be rather sweet of him to help his relationship advance to the next stage... if, well, the other party wasn't a door.
> 
> \+ [Horse art](https://twitter.com/aymericborel/status/1266120253391560704)


End file.
